


The Roommate Situation

by TheShitCook



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bookworm Paul, But Daryl and Paul aren't roommates, Daryl's inner monologue is not kind, Eventual Smut, Homophobic Language, I'm trying to be funny, M/M, Mechanic Daryl, OoC at times, Roommates, Sorry dudes, The au that nobody asked for, i suck at it though, maybe if I do a spinoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-20 18:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13723737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShitCook/pseuds/TheShitCook
Summary: You know the old story. Friendship turns to lust, lust turns to a friends-with-benefits relationship which then turns to hate. And then you're asking your best friend to jump on your bed with you to piss off your roommate.It's cliche and overdone but I wanted it so here it is anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

     Paul can hear it. Not only that, he can _feel_ it. And he’s sure that’s exactly what Devon wants. For him to hear every raunchy noise, feel every slam of the bedframe against the shared wall. Devon wants him to _know_ that he’s having sex, and that Paul isn’t.

Not that Paul gives a damn. Unlike _some_ people, he can go more than a week without getting laid. As long as he needs to really, because he’s got enough brain matter in his head to tell him that there’s more to life than getting a good dicking. Especially when he’s got exams at the Uni, his job at the bar, and really anything else besides sex to keep him busy. Like, possibly, his ever-growing library, all the new TV series popping up on Netflix, or just video games. Anything besides rolling around in his bedsheets, sweaty and screaming like he’s being tortured.

It’s the _noise_ that’s getting to him. It’s like his damn roommate and his “bed-mate-of-the-week” can’t go a whole 10 seconds without howling and slamming their fists on the shared wall. Paul’s just about ready to rearrange all the furniture in his room so that his bed is as far away from it as possible. Maybe buy some foam soundproofing boards and have Devon cut him a check for his trouble. Then he might get a decent night’s sleep rather than relying on coffee and 5-hour energy.

There’s another series of loud bangs against the wall and, possibly, a new crack forming in the ceiling. Paul groans and rolls onto his side, hoping his own noises of disappointment might drown out the sounds of the cheap whore that Devon is screwing next door.

Yup, it’s a girl this time. Because, even though he was gay last week, he’s straight tonight. If he would just pull his head out of his ass for a moment, he would realize there’s a word for people like that. It’s bisexual. He’s bisexual. But god forbid he admit it.

_“OOOoohhhh~!”_

Paul rolls his eyes and half considers going in there to save the poor girl because he knows for a fact that his roommate isn’t _that_ good. Paul was screwing Devon for months and never made a noise anything like that. So, that means that that woman is either in pain, has never had decent sex in her life, or she’s literally a whore that’s getting paid to sound like Devon’s dick holds all of life’s secrets. And no matter the answer, she could do better.

He reaches blindly in the dark of his room for his cell phone so that he can text the one person he can always count on to be awake this late at night.

Daryl Dixon. His best friend since his car broke down on the side of the road and Daryl, somewhat begrudgingly, jury-rigged it for him rather than just passing by on his bike. He gave Paul the address to his shop and told him to come in when he got the chance. Paul brought it in the very next day to be fixed, and then gave Daryl the address to his book shop.

Starting up a proper friendship had been slightly more complicated after that. Daryl didn’t know how to make friends and Paul preferred to keep everybody around him at a distance. But after some slightly uncomfortable run ins with their past, the two of them started to build something. Paul would even say Daryl had become like a brother to him, if that didn’t feel slightly… wrong. He can’t figure out why yet, but he’s working on it. Saving it for another day when he’s not busy running between the store and his university.

_Lord and Savior: You’d think they’d get tired after the first 3 hours. He must have paid extra._

Paul smirked to himself as he texted, and a small bubble popped up barely seconds later, just as another eardrum-blowing, giggle of a shriek shattered the sound barrier.

_DoubleD: God, is that prick still at it?_

_Lord and Savior: Oh yeah, big time._

There’s silence from the other end of the line for a short while, then another bubble.

_DoubleD: Why don’t you just leave?_

Paul could practically hear the words leaving Daryl’s mouth. His low, raspy voice and thick accent all too familiar to his ears. He’s surprised Daryl doesn’t type more similar to how he sounds, though he assumes auto-correct takes care of that.

_Lord and Savior: You know why. This place is cheap, and your trailer is too small for both of us._

Paul has seriously considered moving in with his best friend, especially recently. But his large collection of books alone won’t fit in the Winnebago that Daryl is currently residing in. While there’s two beds at the very back of the vehicle, and a half decent kitchen, it would just become far too cluttered with all of Paul’s crap. It also means that Paul would have to get used to showering, changing, and any other… nude activities with Daryl in the immediate vicinity. Once again, he’s not exactly sure why that makes him so squirmy, but he’s figuring it out.

There’s a final, high-pitched, squeal of a noise, like somebody stepped on a dog toy, and then the house goes silent. Paul texts Daryl as much and then shifts himself back into a comfortable position so that he can finally get some sleep for his morning classes.

He wakes up to a big-breasted, blonde idiot eating the last of his favourite cereal and sitting in his chair at the kitchen counter. She’s wearing a university sweater and panties, but nothing else. Which means he’s going to have to wipe down that chair later. He wants to ask why she’s up so early, considering most normal people like to sleep in after sex, but he just doesn’t care enough. In all likelihood, he’s never going to see the woman again anyway. So, he slips into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day instead.

When he comes back out with his best rainbow patterned towel wrapped around his hips, the woman is gone. Cereal bowl still perched on the counter and spoon balanced on the edge of the bowl like some sort of magic trick. It’s a little impressive.

“Huh.” He huffs quietly to himself.

He pads back to his room and gets himself dressed, pocketing his phone, wallet, and keys. He scoops his bag off the floor and grabs an apple from the fridge, and then he’s out the door.

The school day goes by like any other. He only has two morning classes and no shifts at the bookstore today, which gives him plenty of time to bug Daryl at the shop once noon rolls around. The first few times he’d dropped in unannounced, he’d been all but kicked out of the building. However, over the past months, nearly a year now, he’s made himself quite at home in the slightly run-down building. Even has his own couch in the garage.

It's a small place, family owned. Which means they come up with their own prices as well. That’s how Paul was able to afford the work done on his own beater of a vehicle when he pulled it in. It’s got just enough employees to count on two hands and feels rather homely. The people are good, as is the money apparently, because Daryl’s very comfortable with his position there. He’s even hopeful that he’ll be able to take over once the original owner hits retirement.

“Ya could move inta the dorms?” Daryl offers with his head stuck in the engine of a Lamborghini that’s been shined so many times that the surface is more like a mirror than metal. Paul’s hand had been hovering over the hood just a few minutes prior when Daryl had slapped it away, stating that the owner would have his head if there were a single print on it when he came to pick it up. Rich bastard that he is, a client’s still a client, and money is money.

“Like I said last night; it’s much cheaper to stay with Devon right now. And I promised myself I wouldn’t let a break up affect my life…” Paul grumbles as he spreads himself out on the couch, face pressed into the arm and right arm lolling off the side as he kicks his feet.

“Thought ya said ya weren’t datin’?” Daryl grumbles and Paul can practically _hear_ his eyes rolling. Daryl never liked Devon. In all fairness, Paul hadn’t really either. He’d just needed a good roll in the sack and Devon was _literally_ next door. One room over. Decently attractive. Single. Whatever his gender of choice is now, it worked at the time.

“We weren’t. But he was less of a prick before we started doing anything. He might as well be treating it like a break up. I couldn’t care less.” Paul’s words are half-muffled by the couch cushions and he can feel the seams leaving indents on his cheek.

“Sure don’t sound like ya don’t care.” Daryl hums as he stands from the car, whipping a bit of grease off on his work jeans. Or everyday jeans. There doesn’t seem to be a difference anymore.

“I’m SLEEP DEPRIVED. It’s different.” Both of them are silent for a while after that. Paul having fallen asleep for a couple of minutes, and Daryl working on the car. He rolls under it at some point on a creeper seat and Paul startles when he starts to speak again.

“Ya could try an’ get ‘im back?” Daryl offers as he grunts and pulls at something Paul can’t quite see from his angle. Paul snorts.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have you know I left my slut phase behind a year ago. Thank you very much.” Right around the time that the two of them met actually, but Paul’s always chalked that up to chance. He was getting too old for whoring around at gay bars years before he even met Daryl. Paul shifts his position on the couch, rolling onto his back.

“Didn’ mean it like _that._ Ya could, piss in his cereal or something. Throw out his DVD’s” Daryl curses as he nicks his hand on something, and Paul shakes his head.

“I don’t wanna sink to his level. I mean, I do, I really do. And I’d love to see him with the same bags under his eyes that I’ve been sporting for weeks.” Paul murmurs the last part.

“But I’m more mature than that.” He says with a flourish and with one palm pressed to his chest, fingers spread wide. Daryl snorts at him and Paul turns to give him a sneer. “You disagree?”

“Yeah, I do.” Daryl goads, and Paul feigns a look of hurt and betrayal.

“I’ll have you know I was voted ‘most likely to become a mature adult’ in high school.”

“More like ‘most likely ta piss me off for no good reason’.”

“Now that would be an interesting award.” Paul giggles.

And that’s where that topic ends. Paul shifts the conversation to the owner of the Lambo and Daryl immediately goes off about what a total prick he’s been from the moment he walked in. Constantly texting for updates and pictures like Daryl’s a babysitter, not a mechanic.

“And why don’t _you_ just leave?” Paul teases and Daryl shoves at the side of his head playfully as he passes by to pick up some tools from the workbench.

“‘Cause my prick’s payin’ me. Yers ain’t.” Daryl smirks a bit at the end and Paul feels proud for it. Showing emotion isn’t exactly one of Daryl’s strong suits and getting a smile out of him is always a small victory. Even if he’s smiling at Paul’s expense.

“He’s _payin’_ half the rent, so that’s something.”

“Yeah, well, that kinda bullshit ain’t worth him payin’ all the rent. An’ that’s the last I’ll say ‘bout that.” Daryl’s starting to look pissed off about the whole thing, so Paul tries to switch the subject again, half-assedly musing about how nice the ceiling looks today.

One of the workbench drawers slams abruptly behind him, followed by Daryl cursing under his breath. Paul turns just in time to see Daryl storming off, wiping his hands on an oily rag. He’s murmuring something about part-timers moving all of his damn tools and Paul huffs in quiet laughter. The wheels in his head turn as the thinks about their earlier conversation.

He considers again, what Daryl said about getting back at him. Pulling nasty pranks or throwing out his valuables doesn’t feel like something he would do. Then again, neither does sitting back and doing nothing. So, he’s at a crossroads. Considering between becoming the meek sheep that sits back and does absolutely nothing or turning into a complete asshole and starting a war.

And then it comes to him. The idea obvious now that it’s here, but hindsight is always 20/20. He’s practically giddy as Daryl bursts back into the garage with a wrench in his fist and, most likely, the new guy on his shit list.

“Daryl! I need you to have sex with me!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I actually had to do a lot of editing. I originally had Paul working in a bar and had to change about half of it. So if you notice anything a little funny, please let me know in the comments! Or just use the comments to tell me if you liked it! Both are great. :)

     Daryl’s face has been permanently pressed into his palms for the last 20 minutes of this conversation. Exasperated groan just on the tip of his tongue, but never making it past his lips. Paul’s been whispering away his master plan for the lot of his shift now while Daryl leans against a bookshelf and rolls his eyes. The hallway they’re in is just a bit small for two people to fit, and yet, here they are. The younger man’s been running around the store, frantically putting away a load of new paperbacks he received from an older gentleman. He slips by Daryl every once in a while, cologne wafting by and making his head spin a little. At least, Daryl thinks it’s cologne. Whatever it is, the scent is very much Paul.

“I just wanna give him a taste of his own medicine.” Paul justifies as he climbs a ladder to reach a higher shelf that Daryl thinks he might have been able to reach without one. His hair is tied up in a bun and he has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to quarter length.

“Sounds a lot like yer tryin’ to get ‘im jealous.” Daryl groans and pulls a pack of smokes out of his pocket to toss between his hands. Paul gives him a pointed look, and he slides it back into place, not in the mood for another rant about _lung cancer being a silent killer_. He still can’t kick the habit, even with Paul constantly batting the back of his hand with a wooden spoon.

“You know it’s not that. I could care less what he knows about my sex life, I just need a reason to keep him up all night that isn’t glaringly obvious to be retaliation. And while loud music would usually be my go to, this feels just a little…” Paul gets cut off by a customer and rushes to show them to the book they need, returning in time to see Daryl putting away a stack for him. Daryl thinks that he might be hanging out here a bit too often.

“Sweeter.” Daryl finishes his sentence for him, and Paul nods in agreement. Paul leans on a low shelf, elbows pressed to the old wood as he stares into Daryl’s _soul_ with his damn puppy dog eyes. Blue and green shifting with the flickering lights.

“Please, Daryl.” Paul batts his eyelashes and Daryl scrunches his own eyes shut, pinching the skin between his brows with a groan and running his other hand through his shortly cropped hair.

While Daryl is no longer outright denying his sexuality, he isn’t exactly comfortable with it being that thoroughly solidified yet. Jumping around on Paul’s bed and moaning like some damn porn star is definitely going to convince at least the roommate that he’s… well _that_. And he’d rather that not be spread around Atlanta quite yet. Maybe in a few more years, when he’s old and just can’t give a shit anymore, he’ll finally admit it out loud.

He had a hard-enough time admitting to Paul, another homosexual, that he preferred the company of men. If you can call Paul stumbling over his skin mags at the trailer followed by weeks of denial and refusal to talk about said incident “admitting to it.”

This brings Daryl to another one of the reasons he looks up to Paul like he’s actually Jesus Fucking Christ sometimes. Paul’s never been _afraid_ of his sexuality. Sure, he got a few ass-kickings for it in foster care and whatever school he’d been thrown into for the week, but he was never afraid to be who he was. To be gay. Whereas Daryl got a belt to his ribcage for so much as breathing too loud at times. He doesn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he’d told Merle and the old man that he was a fag. _Is_ a fag.

“Ya can’t ask anybody else?” Daryl groans as he opens his eyes and Paul _finally_ breaks his puppy-dog stare as he turns to shuffle through his cart again. He runs around to the next aisle and Daryl thinks Paul is about to drop the conversation, when he pulls a handful of books out of the way at eye level, creating a small square on the shelf Daryl can lean down to see him through.

“You know I can’t. Devon won’t buy it if I ask one of the girls. And I have two male friends. Kal’s got a girlfriend, and he’s not exactly my type to begin with, so that leaves me with-” Paul is practically mumbling the last part as he bends down and out of sight to mess with something on a bottom shelf. Daryl pushes a few more books out of the way on the shelf.

“With me. The last resort.” Daryl bites out with a little more venom than he intended. He knows Paul didn’t mean it that way, he’s just digging for a reason to say no to this.

“No, the most attractive man I could possibly bring home.” Paul tries to throw in a bit of flattery, but Daryl keeps his face deadpanned as he fiddles with an unlit cigarette that he sneaked out his pack. He won’t light it in a bookstore, he’s not a fool. His features are schooled, despite Paul’s compliment. And yet, he can still feel a slight blush forming high on his cheeks he opts to ignore.

“I’ll repeat myself; sounds a lot like yer tryin’ ta make ‘im jealous.” Daryl gives one final attempt at arguing against this plan, which Paul all but scoffs at.

“It’s not that, and you have no reason to say no to this. To _me_.” Paul flutters his eyelashes again and smirks like he’s already won. Daryl feels the will to fight chewing at his insides once again.

“Kinda dragging me outta the closet here.” Daryl muses, almost like he’s speaking to himself. He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. Paul of all people knows what that’s like, growing up in foster homes with little to no privacy. Paul sighs and deflates, not making eye contact with Daryl and instead, staring at a spot somewhere to his left.

“Are you uncomfortable with this or with me…?” Paul turns his glance towards Daryl quickly, and all the air that had rushed into Daryl’s lungs to puff out his chest just dissipates. He groans and drops his face back into his hands, running them down his jaw.

“Ya know s’not-” Daryl begins, and Paul interrupts him.

“I _don’t_ know Daryl.” Paul hisses, his voice raising slightly. He huffs and lowers it again.

“That’s how it used to be, so maybe this is just asking too much of you. Maybe I thought we were close enough friends that I could ask you for something like this, even if it is a little bit petty of me. Maybe I just… maybe…” Paul seems to lose himself in the sentence and huffs again. He starts messing with the books in front of him and licks his lower lip.

Shit.

Daryl knows that tick. He’s gotten into his own head now and Daryl basically goaded him into it like an idiot. Daryl starts damage control, not that he’s ever been good at this part.

“Ya never made me uncomfortable, I jus’…”  Daryl pauses, thinking through his next words. He’s never been good with those, but Paul has always deserved them a bit more than others.

“Ain’t never made me uncomfortable Paul. Jus’ don’t know what ta do.” He grits his teeth at his inability to explain himself, but Paul’s always understood him whenever he’s trying to apologize.

Paul’s stance alters, tense body visibly relaxing as his face breaks into a more comfortable grin. He reaches through the shelf and gives Daryl’s shoulder a gentle shove, palm leaving a warm, ghost of an imprint behind that Daryl tries not to think about too much.

“If you help me, just this once, I’ll see if I can order in that book on stargazing you’ve been looking for. You know I’m not usually allowed to do orders. It’s all used here.” Paul leans in and whispers likes that’s some big secret and Daryl quirks his brow petulantly. Paul scrunches his face up in thought, and sighs deeply when he seemingly decides on an answer.

“And… I won’t ride your ass about smoking for a week.” Paul sneers a little as he speaks, like he regrets making the offer. But he doesn’t take it back, just keeps eye contact as he pages through some novels to insert paper sensors. It’s interesting to watch Paul go about his work without fully paying attention, but he’s always been a multitasker. Always doing something.

Daryl’s silent for a short while as he thinks it over. Flipping his cigarette around in his fingers and imaging a world where Paul doesn’t ride his ass for smoking. He stares into Paul’s eyes, trying to convince himself that going through with this is a bad idea. But other than his own demons beating at his walls and screaming _No,_ he can’t see why not. And considering what listening to himself for the last forty years has gotten him, the answer is obvious.

“That’s an awful thing ta do to a man…” Daryl chuckles as he flicks his gaze back to Paul. Paul grins at him, feral and mischievous as pearly white teeth poke out from between pink lips.

“So, we have a deal then?” Paul offers his hand through the shelf and in between the dusty hardcovers. Daryl immediately takes it, giving one, decided shake that topples a few books off the shelf. They clatter dully to the floor and they both look around to make sure nobody heard. They don’t let go of each other’s hands as they look.

Daryl leans forward so that their faces are inches apart, separated by the width of about two small books. He whispers just like Paul had, like he’s sharing secrets.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newly edited to try and work on some OOC bits and pieces. I'm not perfect guys, and I do appreciate ConCrit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter here, but I love narratives and Paul's point of view.

     Paul already regrets the deal he’s made with Daryl. Not because he no longer wants to go through with it, it’s the smoking. Daryl’s become a chimney since the second Paul gave him permission to light up, working through half a pack while he leans on the side of the building with Paul, who is currently trying to enjoy his dinner break. Not to mention what those things do to his voice. He barely restrained a shiver when Daryl whispered directly next to his ear inside the bookstore. Once again, he’ll chalk that up to… whatever works.

“So… how are we gonna do this?” Daryl speaks between puffs, which he’s thankfully had the good graces to face away from Paul. Paul hums thoughtfully as he chews on his granola bar. He hadn’t really thought all that far yet. Bring Daryl back to the apartment, jump on the bed for 20 minutes while screaming like Daryl’s dick is the only thing keeping him grounded. That thought makes Paul choke a little on his food, but Daryl pays it no mind as he takes another drag and puts the butt out on concrete wall. He’s already built up quite the pattern with his ashes.

“Well, ya know… just… jump on the bed, I guess?” Paul tries, though it sounds sad, even to his own ears. He finishes off his granola and rubs his palm over his jaw in thought.

“Jump on the bed. That’s _real_ original, Mr. University.” Daryl goads, and Paul shoulders him until he’s got an extra couple inches of space between them. A little more breathing room.

“Well I don’t know how to _simulate_ sex!” Paul flounders and Daryl snorts, tucking away his cigarette pack. Paul’s thankful for that small miracle. Once the week is up, he plans to buy up every carton in Atlanta, Georgia, and throw them all in a lake.

“Well I don’t know how _you_ have…” Daryl waves his hand above his head in a circular motion, obviously not wanting to finish his sentence in an adorably flustered manner. “But most people tend ta make some… noises.” Daryl’s starting to blush as he speaks, and Paul purses his lips to keep from smiling, lest he incur the wrath of an embarrassed Daryl Dixon.

“No, no. You’re right. I just figured that would follow naturally.” Paul stumbles over his words imagining it and Daryl chews at his thumb out of nervous habit. Paul’s noticed that he does it whenever he’s itching for a smoke. Ironic, since he just finished lighting up like a fireplace.

“Jump on the bed, moan a little, slam the headboard against the wall. Whatever works.”

Daryl nods and even though the sun’s almost gone down, Paul can see the blush creeping down from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt. It’s endearing, in a Daryl kind of way.

“So… when are we gonna start?” Paul asks as he checks his watch. 5 minutes left in his break. Daryl’s quiet for a few more beats, then he sniffs and clears his throat.

“Sooner the better, right? Wanna get ‘im to quit?” Daryl turns to look at him and Paul chuckles. He nods as a smile breaks out across his face.

“Yeah, tonight it is then.” Paul decides as he stuffs all of his lunch gear away in his bag. “My shift ends at ten, can I meet you at my place?” He asks, more nervous than if he were promising to meet up with a guy for _actual_ sex. Which is weird. But once again, he decides not to read into it. Because he’s apparently putting half of his thoughts concerning Daryl on the back burner lately. Whenever he thinks about how adorable Daryl looks when he’s flustered or embarrassed, push that back. Whenever he thinks about the fact that he can see the muscles in Daryl’s back shift as he’s buried in the hood of a car, push that back. Whenever he thinks about the way Daryl always comes to see him at work and how it magically makes dealing with Gregory a little more bearable, push that back as well. Just push it all… … … back.

He must have zoned out during that train of thought because Daryl’s hand is suddenly waving in front of his face while he whistles. Paul blinks at him stupidly, then scoffs and pushes his hand away. Daryl rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Sure, tonight.” Daryl nods, and the air around them just feels _different_. Awkward, like when they were starting out. Paul draws his brows together in concentration as he tries to think of a way to break the tension. To bring his Daryl back, the one he worked almost a year for. It’s sort of weird to think of him in that way, but it’s true. The way Daryl is now, not everybody gets to see it. It makes the snarky, smirking, caring version of the mechanic all his own.

“Hey!” Paul calls out just as Daryl’s taken his first few steps towards the parking lot. He turns, blush still high on his cheeks and fists still shoved in his pockets. Paul flounders again, and eventually, he decides on just flipping him the bird. Daryl is silent for what feels like an eternity. Decades pass while Paul holds his finger towards his best friend and glares at him.

And then Daryl breaks.

He bursts out laughing like Paul’s the most ridiculous thing he’s looked at in ages. He bends over at a 90-degree angle as the laughter pours from his mouth, eyes clench shut while he snivels and giggles. Paul’s a bit stupefied, so he just stands there and watches, waiting for a proper response.

Daryl flips him off in return and turns to walk away.

And Paul’s not sure whether the easy air between them is back with that, but he sure hopes so.

The rest of the shift passes by without much incident. The usual slowness that comes from working with used books. This day and age, everybody’s just moved on to digital copy. He’s so happy when it’s finally over and he’s locking up the store with Gregory that he practically jumps into his car through the window, taking wide and fast steps into the parking lot.

And then he remembers. Not that he’d forgotten, it’s been on the forefront of his mind since he watched Daryl ride off into the night on his motorbike. It just suddenly hits him that this is happening now. And while he would like to sit in the driver’s seat off his Nissan for a couple more minutes to prepare, he knows Daryl is standing outside of his building right now and waiting for him to show up. So, he puts the car into drive and makes his way home.

When he arrives and finishes parking his car in the underground, he practically jogs to the front door of the building, where Daryl’s leaning against the wall and fiddling with a, thankfully, unlit cigarette. That’s not to say he hasn’t been smoking like a chimney up until this point though. Paul punches Daryl in the shoulder to announce his arrival, and Daryl shoves at him playfully. Paul chuckles and straightens himself out, clearing his throat nervously.

“So, how are we gonna do this?”


	4. Chapter 4

     “So, plan of action.” Paul starts, and Daryl nods along as he listens. While the both of them had been very awkward about the idea at first, the more they planned, the easier it was becoming. At this point, for Daryl at least, it’s less about “I’m going to be feigning sex with Paul” and more about “I’m going to get back at that prick for messin’ with my best friend.”

“The way I see this, we can go about it two ways.” Paul holds up one finger on each hand as he speaks. “Numero uno, the giddy couple.” Daryl flushes a little as he imagines it, but he says nothing. “We come bursting in through the front door, all over each other, and then make our way to the bedroom. We laugh and… are you laughing right now?”

Daryl purses his lips and nods because he would be lying if he said he wasn’t chuckling a bit.

“All over each other?” Daryl clarifies, sounding a little put off. Paul frowns, and Daryl watches the way it makes his entire face shift. His brows knit together slightly as his eyes narrow.

“I know, I know. It’s just the most believable if he’s still awake. The other thing we can do is just sneak in, kind of like we’re _ashamed_ but…” Paul pauses, and Daryl can see the gears in his head turning through the look in his eyes. Like he knows what he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it. Or maybe he doesn’t know what to say this time. That would be a first.

“I mean, yer not exactly rollin’ in with Hugh Jackman so…” Daryl thinks aloud, and the look on Paul’s face transforms to something a little more… complicated.

“I have many things wrong with what you just said, but I will start with the fact that you don’t think you’re attractive.” Daryl rolls his eyes because _here he goes again._ Trying to build up some sense of self-confidence for Daryl after 40-some odd years of stewing in his own self-hatred. He would like to be able to say that it’s not getting to him, but it is.

“I’m serious Daryl. You’re just not you’re type, that’s why you can’t see it.” Paul finally drops his hands, sounding defeated, and starts fiddling with his keys to unlock the lobby doors. He’s given up a lot faster today than he usually does.

 _Not anybody’s type._ Daryl thinks, but he keeps that to himself. He’s not in the mood to deal with _the look_ today. The one where he can never figure out which emotion Paul is trying to convey, or if he’s trying to convey anything at all. It could be involuntary. He knows all of Paul’s looks like he knows the scars on his own back, but he can’t place that one quite yet. The sad smile and wide eyes, brows nit together and soft features. It makes him queasy.

Paul is a lot quieter as they make their way to the fifth floor. He looks nervous, uncomfortable. Which is something else that’s new, because that’s always been Daryl’s job. Daryl’s about to say as much, hopefully lighten the mood, when they reach Paul’s door. Paul unlocks it and turns back around to face him, suddenly looking a bit more confident.

“So, which one are we gonna do? Gonna have to choose fast because if he’s awake, he’ll have heard the lock.” Paul looks up at Daryl with those big, cow eyes that never seem to just stand still. Flicking back and forth across Daryl’s features, as if he’s trying to read him like one of his books. Daryl swallows, lips pursing together in a tight line, and he decides.

He places his hands on Paul’s hips. Hesitantly, his fingers practically shake as they wrap around the flesh covered by thick layers of clothing. He figured the jacket would have made it a bit easier on him, but he can practically feel the heat from Paul’s body bleeding through.

Paul’s breath catches, and he tenses as Daryl steps closer. For a moment, he’s worried he’s overstepped. But what else could “all over each other” have meant?

Paul moves slowly, like he’s trying not to spook the older man. As if Daryl hadn’t made the first move. He wraps his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, forearm thrown over the back of his neck as he reaches back with his free hand to grab the door handle.

Daryl leans forward, bracketing his legs around Paul’s and basically nuzzling at the crook of his neck. He doesn’t touch, refuses to make contact with Paul’s skin because there has to be some stopping point. Some line drawn that insists that this is pretend.

Which brings him to kissing. He’s thinking about kissing Paul, because _should_ he be doing that? On his neck or, down his collarbone maybe? Not on the mouth or anything but… if this is going to be believable, should he not be… _lustful_? God, that word doesn’t even sound right inside of his own head. Besides, kissing is most certainly contact, copious amounts of contact. But the idea brings him dangerously close to shivering.

Daryl can smell Paul from this close. Cologne and body wash blend together and he feels a little dizzy again, just like back in the bookstore, but that’s probably because Paul uses too much. The smell isn’t bad though. He’s not put off by it. Daryl chews worriedly at his lower lip, knowing that Paul can’t see the inner turmoil written so clearly across his face.

“Shall we go then?” Paul’s voice is giddier than Daryl is ready for, and it makes him chuckle. Paul’s skin prickles where his breath ghosts across. “That’s good, use that, and focus on me.”

And with that, Paul pushes the door open, and they fall in.

It’s easier than Daryl thought it would be. Paul’s bedroom is close, and Devon has apparently already turned in for the night, which is perfect because they can’t wake him up if he’s not sleeping yet. They kick off their shoes and are both thankful that they don’t have to ham it up as much as they thought necessary, neither of them being stellar actors. Daryl still does his best to huff out some laughter whenever Paul snorts or giggles.

“That’s not gonna matter much if he’s already sleeping I guess…” Paul whispers right next to Daryl’s neck as they make it through the threshold of his bedroom. Daryl nods and slams the door behind. Paul looks surprised as Daryl continues to push him into the room.

“Ain’t sleepin’ no more.” Daryl reasons, and Paul properly laughs this time. Not the fake, put on crap he used on the way in, but one that bubbled up from the bottom of his lungs and sprang out like a jack-in-the-box. The sound makes the corner of Daryl’s mouth turn up.

“Now what?” Daryl asks as he pulls away. He tries not think about how empty his hands suddenly feel without having a handful of Paul’s hips, or a grip on thin, muscled arms. Or how the entire room smells like Paul intensified. It’s practically invading his nostrils.

“Well… now we make some noise.” Paul explains, looking at Daryl like he should be the one to start. Like he’s actually had meaningful sex before and knows what it sounds like.

Just as he’s starting to get a little to lost in that thought, the heel of Paul’s socked foot harshly digs into his toes and Daryl’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. He groans in pain and Paul smiles proudly, shouldering off his jacket as he watches Daryl shake his foot helplessly.

“Lil’ shit!” Daryl grunts out and shoves Paul backwards onto the bed. Paul gives a loud “oof” noise and readjusts himself to a seated position.

“That’s the spirit!” Paul is whispering, but it’s almost loud and excited. Daryl rolls his eyes as he joins him on the bed, making sure he puts as much pressure into the fall as he can. The bed squeals in protests and Paul smacks Daryl’s leg.

“Don’t break it!” Another whisper, seethed out from between his teeth.

“How do we even know he’s there?” Daryl dares to ask, and Paul stands up. He starts to bounce. Lightly at first, and with many breaks in between bounces. Like he’s building up to something.

“Saw his car in underground. Dumb shit left his headlights on too.” Paul reasons, and then he _moans,_ and Daryl wasn’t at all ready for that because he blushes all the way down to his toes. Daryl covers his face with his hands, though that doesn’t muffle Paul’s giggles and raunchy groans that slowly build in length and volume. The bedframe slams against the wall and Daryl peeks out from between his fingers to see that Paul has kicked it.

“Come onnn… Daryl!” Paul goads him, and Daryl’s never exactly been one to back down from a challenge. So, he goes for it. He lets out, what he considers to be, a decent foul-mouthed moan. He lilts his voice up a little at the end, and then turns to look at Paul as he’s finishing up.

Paul is… laughing. Paul is laughing at him right now.

“Wha’so funny shithead?” Daryl growls, on the defensive, and Paul cups his hand over his mouth. He doesn’t stop bouncing though, keeping up the façade.

“Is that actually how you sound when you’re fucking?” Paul grabs a pillow off the top of the bed and buries his now cherry-red face in the plushness of it. Daryl scoffs and sits up, scooting himself to the headboard and wrapping his hands around the top of it. He starts slamming it in a pattern, and Paul continues to flip around on the sheets.

“So, what? I dunno what I’m suppos’ ta do!” Daryl sneers and tries again. He lets his mind wander a little bit for inspiration. He tries to think about all the porn he’s watched over the years. What the actors sounded like, what Merle sounded like whenever he was high and nailing some broad in his bedroom. That thought puts him off a bit, but he has a better idea now.

Apparently not though, because that one made Paul laugh even harder. He tries to evolve the laughter into breathy moans so as not to arouse suspicion, but it’s a half-assed attempt. And Daryl’s trying to be mad, he really is. He’s embarrassed and pissed off that he can’t even moan correctly. Not like Paul shouldn’t have seen this coming. They both know that Daryl’s sexual experiences have been very limited over the years.

The point is, Daryl is trying his hardest to be mad. But it’s completely impossible when every time he turns to look at Paul, he’s met with dewy, mirth-filled eyes and pinched up cheeks.

“H-here, let me show you how it’s done.” Paul pulls the pillow from his mouth and takes a deep breath. Daryl feels his entire body suddenly tense as Paul lets loose.

“Oooh-! Oh God, ooohhhhh! Fuck Daryl, fuck-!” Paul howls and slams his palm against the shared wall a few times. Daryl feels some sort of rush go through his body as Paul continues and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning.

“Ah! Yes, yes, yes! Ohhhh-! Harder, harder-!” And if Daryl’s head hadn’t already comically exploded by this point, it certainly has now. He hadn’t properly imagined it yet, hadn’t thought about how the two of them might… fit together. But now the image is as clear in his mind as the pictures on a TV screen, and he can practically hear his heartbeat in his ears as his jaw tightens thinking about it. He’s not sure whether he’s put off because it’s Paul or put off because of how he’s reacting, but something about the image makes him full-body shiver.

Daryl is about to bite back his own noise of approval, when he remembers that that’s exactly why Paul asked him here. He lets it out instead. Bounces on the edge of the bed, with his back to the hippie that’s making his blood thunder through his veins, and groans like he’s the only one that can hear. Paul seems impressed with it, because he suddenly gets louder.

“Oh god- yes! Ahhh!” Paul howls and his bounces quicken. Daryl decides to wrap it up and gives one final moan. He curses as he grabs one of Paul’s pillows and places it on his lap. His fingers dig into the soft fabric and he nearly tears at the seams as he gives one, decided, stomp.

“Ohhh FUCK!” Daryl bites out, letting his final moan trail off as Paul starts to “come down” as well. He stops bouncing and falls back, body making a soft _wooshing_ sound as it hits the covers. Daryl stays sitting at the edge, staring down at the cushion, and slightly stretched pillow case, as he chews at the inside of his cheek, hoping that Paul doesn’t ask him to move.

“Holy fucking shit…” Paul sighs, completely out of breath. “That was almost more tiring than real sex…” He giggles at the end and Daryl nods, smirking to himself. Not that he really knows.

“So, we’re gonna give it ten minutes…” Paul takes another deep breath, smoothing his hair out of his face with ease. Daryl looks over his shoulder, breath coming in heavy pants as he calms his rapid heartbeat. “and then… we’re gonna go for round two.”

“Two?!” Daryl nearly shouts. Paul gives him a sly smile and nods, chest heaving with effort as he roots around for a water bottle in his side table.

“Devon’s done this for hours before. I don’t have classes tomorrow, and I know you have a day off.” Paul points the tip of his bottle in Daryl’s direction, then uncaps the lid with a flick of his thumb. “So, we’re gonna keep him up for as long as we can.” Paul takes a swig of his water bottle, and Daryl catches a glimpse of the way his throat works the liquid down.

He groans and falls back on the bed.

“You’re getting better at it already!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would leave more time in between posting these chapters, but I'm leaving for a month long backpacking trip in less than a week (which means no laptop), so you're basically going to get one every day now.

     The two of them go for another three rounds before Paul caves in to Daryl’s demand for sleep. He would have loved to have tried for at least one more, really shove the message down Devon’s throat. But he can see that Daryl is exhausted, flopped down on the mattress face first and panting relentlessly into his pillow. The image has Paul wondering what Daryl might actually look like after such a strenuous activity.

He shakes his head and runs his palm over his jaw.

Daryl’s “moans” improved from round to round. He hadn’t meant to laugh initially, knowing it would make Daryl uncomfortable. The reaction had been compulsory. How was he _not_ supposed to giggle when Daryl was yowling like an unsure cat.

Devon had, by the third round, slammed his fist against the wall six times in a row and demanded they quiet down. Which, of course, was thoroughly ignored. It was, apparently, one of the only things that kept Daryl going for round four. The look of satisfaction that slid across the man’s face was downright maniacal. But now, he’s down for the count, practically snoring as he curls up on Paul’s bed and adjusts himself, twitching like he’s already dreaming.

“You can take the bed.” Paul grins as he grabs one of the pillows and gets up to search for his extra blanket. Daryl snaps up to rest on his elbows and glares.

“‘Bout you? I can take the couch.” Daryl almost sounds offended that Paul decided not to kick him out of bed. The thought makes Paul snort.

“Can’t leave the room. Would be suspicious if he found one of us on the couch.” Paul reasons, and Daryl looks like he’s considering the rationale. While Daryl continues to think, Paul starts setting up a bed on the floor and slips into his pyjamas. He thinks about offering Daryl a pair, they’v had sleepovers before where Paul’s done as much, even going so far as to keep a larger set on hand just in case. He folds his blanket over itself, planning to sleep on top of it, curled underneath his jacket rather than dealing with the ache of the hard floor beneath. He’s about to scoop said jacket off the floor when the world suddenly turns on its side.

Paul yelps as Daryl’s bare arm wraps around his midsection and drags him onto the mattress. The warm and solid grasp disappears seconds later, and he’s left staring up at that damn cracked ceiling. Paul turns his head slightly, only to be faced with Daryl’s backside. He huffs through his nose and gets himself comfortable on top the quilt as Daryl shrugs off his leather vest.

“You wanna change?” Paul offers, and Daryl looks over his shoulder at him.

“Ya know, wearing my clothes might… make the whole situation a bit more… convincing… in the morning, is all.” Paul reasons and he doesn’t know why, Daryl’s slept in his clothes before and it was never a problem. Why is he suddenly so nervous to offer?

“Gon’ repeat myself one more time, ya tryin’ ta piss ‘im off, or make ‘im jealous?” Daryl’s voice is already groggy with impending sleep as he quirks one of his eyebrows in question. Paul snorts and turns his back, staring at his locked bedroom door. Daryl seems to give up and he gets up to quickly change. Paul doesn’t look over at him, he learned very early on that Daryl’s doesn’t appreciate that too much. Something to do with scars, he won’t elaborate further. He drops off into dream land immediately, too tired to continue the argument.

But Paul’s just opened himself up a whole new can of worms with that last thought. Because he’s not quite sure himself why he’s asking all this _extra_ of Daryl if his main goal is just to keep Devon awake. The man doesn’t need to know that it’s Daryl he’s with. He doesn’t need to see Paul giggling and being happy and cuddly with Daryl either. It doesn’t matter one bit if he sees Daryl parading around in one of Paul’s band shirts or kissing him good bye in the morning. None of it matters as long as he doesn’t get any sleep because of them?

Right?

Apparently not, because Paul is still thinking about it.

He wonders if maybe he’s _not_ over Devon yet, and he really is trying to make him jealous. But the very idea makes his head hurt and a bit of bile jump into his throat because _no._ So, he wonders if maybe it’s just because he’s a shallow person. And while a year or so ago, he might have just accepted that as the answer, Daryl’s gotten into the nasty habit of beating all of Paul’s self doubts half to death, so that doesn’t work either.

In the end, he decides he’s too tired to think about it anymore, and he goes to sleep.

He wakes up in a slightly different position than he’d fallen asleep in. He seems to have wrapped himself around something. It’s warm and solid, bulky and so perfectly cuddly that his sleepy mind demands he tighten his hold.

Which is a terrible idea because the solid, bulky, warmth suddenly stiffens. The tenseness brings Paul to an aware enough state that he can properly recognize what’s going on.

He’s wrapped himself around Daryl’s back, affectionately spooning him with his entire body. Their legs are slightly tangled, and his nose is pressed into the soft flesh just below Daryl’s neck. He _wants_ to say that he’s sorry, and that he’s overstepped some boundaries. He _should_ pull away and go back to sleep facing his respective wall.

But damn if it doesn’t feel so right and is that Daryl’s arms wrapped gingerly over his? He’s just noticing it now and it doesn’t feel like Daryl’s trying all that hard to pull away, but that’s most likely shock from the situation they’ve found themselves in.

Should he pull away, will that alert the older man? Maybe he should just pretend like he’s still asleep, it’s not as if Daryl’s actually turned around yet to see that his eyes are open. Or can the older man already tell that he’s awake from his breathing? He’s always been so good with picking up on all of Paul’s little ticks that he might already know by now. And if that’s the case, it would be weird _not_ to pull away.

On the other hand, Paul did spend around a dozen years of his life bouncing around in the foster system and faking sleep for a hundred different families in order to stay up late and read.

Just when he’s finally reasoned himself into staying put, he realizes how snugly he has his chest pressed up against Daryl’s back in this position. And while that shouldn’t be a big deal it _might_ be because suddenly his heart rate feels a little speedier than usual and Daryl’s _definitely_ going to pick up on that while he tries to feel out the situation.

Paul wants to groan in frustration because never in his life as he felt so precariously balanced on the edge of a razor than right now. Not when dealing with Gregory’s moody bullshit at the store, not in any of his foster homes, even the more violent ones, not even when he was trying to decide whether or not to give Daryl his info way back when they met.

He’s swinging back to the “pull away” category again when his brain helpfully reminds him that at this point, he’s held on for too long to make _either_ decision. Because if Daryl knows he’s awake, then it’s already weird that neither of them have pulled away yet and it’s too late to gracefully bow out of the situation. If Daryl doesn’t know he’s awake yet and he starts to pull away after all this time, it’s going to appear very suspicious.

So, he has his answer.

He’s just going to stay put. Because it’s the most logical course of action. To let Daryl decide what happens because Paul is fine with either.

 _Really, you’re fine with either?_ That helpful little voice from earlier pops back up in his head. More mocking than helpful at this point. But it’s right. If he’s fine with either, that means that he’s fine with staying like this. Which should be weird, because this is Daryl.

And while he waits for the voice in his head to pipe up one more time and tell him that it _is_ weird, it never happens. His mind’s actually gone completely blank at this point, like he’s fried it by thinking way too much about one thing.

The situation seems to resolve itself however, when Daryl’s body goes slack and his arm falls heavy on Paul’s. The older man’s breathing evens out again and Paul’s palm has been shifted to basically press against Daryl’s chest so that he can _feel_ his heartbeat begin to slow. His fingers twitch of their own accord, but Daryl pays it no mind as the tips brush against him.

Paul feels like now would be a good time to take one of those long, meditative breaths he learned in martial arts, but he can’t. Because, once again, that would give home away.

Instead, he just snuggles into Daryl’s back as much as he can and hopes the older man doesn’t notice the shaky exhale that flutters across his back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, we're getting there!!

     Daryl is fully aware of what happened last night. And he knows the implications of not pulling away immediately as well.

He’s just not exactly sure what he should do about it yet.

It’s currently around nine thirty am. Daryl can see that much from the clock on the bedside table that he’s facing. It’s the latest he’s slept in until in the last couple of years. He could chalk that up to the fact that he and Paul were up so late bouncing around and hollering at Devon. Or even that Paul’s mattress is definitely a higher quality than his back at the trailer.

But he knows it’s a little more than that.

Paul suddenly shifts, as he’s been doing basically the entire night, and Daryl has to hold back a snort because it would almost be endearing what a restless sleeper he is if it weren’t so troubling. He wonders if every night goes something like this. If Paul’s ever had a decent sleep, even before the roommate situation.

He doesn’t get to think about it for long because Paul is very suddenly and very completely _off_ of him, arms and body pulling away like he’s been stung. Daryl wants to turn around to see what’s wrong but that’s basically admitting to himself and to Paul that he was fully accepting of their previous position, and he’s not about to do that.

Then Paul whimpers like somebody’s just kicked him and Daryl’s no saint but that’s not something he can ignore. He rolls over just in time to see the younger man roll himself right off the edge of the bed with a slightly startled “Whoa-!” and a series of painful thumps. Daryl lurches foreword and grips at the edge of the bed, taking in Paul’s surprised face. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all sorts of directions that it shouldn’t go. His eyes are wide and wild as he stares down at his lap, mouth fallen open slack as he gasps for breath. His chest is heaving, but he’s otherwise silent, looking as if he’s trying to put reality back together.

Daryl doesn’t _really_ think about his next move, it just sort of, happens. His arm reaches out of it’s own accord, and his hand lands on top of Paul’s head by it’s own decision. Thinking back on it, he probably shouldn’t have touched someone that had just come fresh from a nightmare, but Paul doesn’t pull away. It takes a few moments, and Daryl’s thumb rubbing the soft, tangled mess of bedhead gently, but Paul’s breathing comes back down. His eyelids go heavy and Daryl can see in his features that he’s still exhausted.

Maybe from weeks of Devon keeping him up, maybe from all the extra shifts at the bookstore. Maybe just from life in general, as his seems to be pretty tiring. And that’s only from what Paul is willing to tell. Daryl’s sure that younger man keeps at least half of troubles to himself. The fact that he seems to be having nightmares regularly being one of them.

Once again, Daryl doesn’t really think through his next move. It just happens.

“Com’on.” Daryl pats the edge of the bed, and Paul turns his head slightly to look up at him. Paul nods, and crawls up as Daryl moves back over to his side of the bed. Paul’s surprisingly quiet. No sarcastic comments, no chuckling or smirking at the way Daryl is so obviously blushing. It’s a little too surreal for his liking.

Paul mumbles something unintelligible, and Daryl’s not fully sure whether or not he was meant to hear. He assumes it wasn’t important enough anyway, considering Paul’s practically drifted off into dream land again. Hopefully a more pleasant one than the last. Daryl shifts himself until he’s comfortable, which is another terrible idea because the side of his body is suddenly pressed up against Paul’s chest. Paul _isn’t moving away_ but slinging his arm over his chest and snuggling closer. It should be a sign that, once again, neither of them is stopping this.

But Daryl ignores it in favour of trying to get some more sleep, which is a failure of epic proportions because he’s too close to Paul’s warm, slowly calming form to think of anything else. He tries to think of nothing, let his mind go blank.

But, much like everything else that he’s been attempting up until this point, it doesn’t work out.

The warmth of Paul’s chest and palm bleed through his shirt, leaving imprints in his skin that he’s sure are going to scar. He doesn’t think he’d mind that so much though. It could be the one mark on his body that he doesn’t cringe at every time he catches a glimpse in the mirror. Daryl turns to look at Paul’s peacefully sleeping face. He snuffles and nuzzles in closer, and Daryl wonders if he thinks that his body is a pillow. Or maybe he thinks that he’s Devon…

That thought makes him want to pull away. But he doesn’t.

Paul sleeps for another hour and thirteen minutes. Daryl knows it’s been exactly this long because he’s been awake for every second of it. His eyes flicking over to Paul intermittently, just to make sure he’s not tossing around again. Though he can feel that much.

Sometime during the last fifteen minutes, Paul rolled away from him. Not at all violently like the last time, so Daryl doesn’t feel the same pull to check on him. He lets out a long-held breath through his nose as Paul wakes. Paul blinks slowly, like he’s not sure where he is. Which is slightly amusing because he’s literally in his own bedroom, just with one added person.

“Daryl…?” He grumbles, voice rough with sleep as he turns over. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten what happened an hour ago, and Daryl’s not exactly complaining.

“Mhm.” Daryl groans, just to let Paul know he’s awake. Paul stretches out over the bed, joints popping and sleep shirt rucking up to reveal warm skin. Daryl blinks and looks away, not wanting to think to hard about the butterflies that conjures up.

“Ya need…” Paul rubs his eyes between words. “Ya need breakfast?” Paul asks, and it’s a little domestic for Daryl’s taste. He snorts.

“Yeah, uh, that’d be good.”


	7. Chapter 7

     It was meant to be a one-time thing, but they go on like this for a while. Daryl visits basically every other day for a couple of weeks due to how regularly Devon brings randos home. They always one up him as well. Rolling around on the bed violently and slamming against the wall. Screaming and moaning at the tops of their lungs. Daryl’s still learning on that end, of course.

He’s gotten better though, if Paul can say so himself. And he’ll go so far as to give himself credit for at least part of that. Although, he’s becoming more and more sure each day that Daryl’s never had a chance to properly moan in his life. That he’s never had real, feel good sex. And while the thought depresses Paul quite a bit, knowing Daryl has never gotten to experience something that should be nothing but a positive experience, it also excites him to some extent.

Then there’s the sleeping arrangements. It hasn’t really changed since the first night. There seems to be some sort of unspoken understanding on that front. That it makes most sense to just sack up and share the bed.

There’s also the unspoken understanding that they never bring up the awkward positions that they wake up in. Awkward in this case meaning, extremely intimate and comfortable, yet too difficult to bring up the next morning. Daryl’s trunk-like arms wrapped around Paul’s midsection as his thighs dig into the backs of Paul’s knees. Or Paul’s face nuzzled into the center of Daryl’s chest with his fingers tangled in the front of his shirt.

Daryl says nothing. Paul says nothing. They just quietly slide out of each other’s arms when they wake up and then root through Devon’s side of the pantry for breakfast.

And it’s long since stopped being about keeping Devon in the dark.

“Paul?” Daryl derails his train of thought by flicking a pop-tart crumb in his direction. It hits Paul in the forehead and falls harmlessly to the kitchen table.

“I didn’t make you that so you could throw it at me, asshole.” Paul grumbles and takes another bite of his own breakfast, another one of Devon’s pop-tarts. Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Nah, ya made it for me so _Dipshit_ doesn’t get any.” Daryl says around his mouthful of too-sugary breakfast. Paul gets a little distracted by the way Daryl’s jaw works and then the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Speaking of dipshit, I brought up the idea of getting a cat for the place.” Paul takes a sip of his coffee and Daryl quirks his brow, knowing Paul’s been thinking about it for months now. “Told him it would be mine to take care of, and I would take it when I eventually move out but…”

There’s a slam from the other side of the apartment as Devon wanders out of his bedroom. He looks sour. Deep bags under his eyes that give Paul a sense of twisted accomplishment.

“Mornin’!” Paul chimes as his roommate wanders into the kitchen, scowling at their breakfasts.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop eating my fucking food?” Devon groans spitefully, pushing bed-mussed hair out of his eyes.

“Apparently the same amount of times I have to tell _you_ to tell Sarah and Casey and Aden and Bruce and Milly and Gerry,” Paul takes a deep breath between words, then continues. “and Lilith and Perry and Nathan and Alice _and the rest_ to stop eating _my_ food.” Paul argues back and Devon looks decently aggravated at this point. Most likely because Paul knows the names of his sexual exploits better than he does, not even bothering to read the “I had such a great time” notes left on the kitchen counter in the mornings with a phone number and signature. Paul’s seen him throw them out many times without so much as a read-over, not even a glance.

“Well at least have the gorilla clean up after himself.” Devon scoffs as he takes some coffee from the pot. Paul sneers and flicks his eyes over to Daryl, who seems only slightly perturbed by the insult, moving onto his second tart.

“Devon, I’ve put up with a lot of shit from your _take-homes_ , and I have never insulted them in front of you nor them. I have to insist here that you show me the same respect.” Paul’s seething through his teeth to remain the bigger person in this conversation. Devon hardly flinches as he stalks over to the pantry, waving a hand over his shoulder non-commitaly.

“At least my exploits have some class.” It’s barely above a whisper and Paul thinks that maybe he wasn’t meant to hear it. Yet, all three of them did. Paul can practically hear Daryl’s jaw tighten, but the older man does nothing. Refuses to rise to Devon’s childish goading. Paul, unfortunately, isn’t so mature yet. Hasn’t hit that sweet spot after forty where he can ignore whatever people say about himself and about his close friends.

Paul sees red. He shoots up from his spot at the table, rattling every dish in the process, and takes four great strides in Devon’s direction. His fingers curl into his palm as he readies a strong fist, rearing his arm back and setting his jaw. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears and his head is throbbing. It’s barely ten am and Devon’s already giving him a migraine. He’s had this coming for a long time, Paul can already _feel_ the satisfaction that will come when his fist makes contact.

He’s just about to take the final step to close the distance and clock Devon square in the back of the head when he feels something yank him back. He’s thrown off balance by the force of it and barely conceals a yelp. He lands square in Daryl’s chest, still-readied fist and spread palm pressing against firm muscle. One of his wrists is trapped in Daryl’s grasp and Daryl’s other hand is holding onto the apposing shoulder.

“Don’t.” Daryl warns, calm eyes boring into Paul’s. There’s anger concealed in his gaze.

“Daryl-”

“S’not worth it.” Daryl cuts him off, still speaking in a low voice to keep Devon from hearing. Paul’s silent for a moment, until he hears Devon slink away into his bedroom and slam the door behind him. The two of them are still in the same position for a while after the room settles. Paul’s still trying to even out his breathing again and Daryl isn’t showing any signs of letting go.

Paul, eventually, breaks the silence with a snort. His head falls forward and lands square on Daryl’s collarbone.

“I’m so immature, aren’t I?” Paul chuckles and Daryl shakes his head, moving the hand on Paul’s shoulder to wrap around him. Daryl laughs quietly, and Paul can feel it against his palm. He unclenches his other hand so that they’re both pressed openly to flesh that radiates warmth, even through his thin sleep shirt. Daryl’s own this time, he’s started bringing his own sleep clothes whenever he comes to visit Paul.

“Nah, just young an’ stupid.” Daryl goads and Paul looks up to glare at him, which is a big mistake because he’s now face to face with the man. Their noses are an inch away from bumping and he can feel Daryl’s breath fanning against his lips.

“You’re a rude old man.” Paul whispers, blinking up at him stupidly, as he was not so long ago described as. Daryl just grunts in response after a long pause, eyes flicking around Paul’s face and then down to the hands still pressed to his body.

“I-” Paul starts, only to be interrupted by Devon once more. He’s exiting his room with a flourish and stomping over to the kitchen. He walks by the two of them with a somewhat passive aggressive shove and tosses his now-empty coffee mug into the sink without cleaning it. Maybe he’ll wash it later, but it’s unlikely.

Paul thinks about pulling away, that maybe their position is too intimate for more than their own company. Though really, the position should be too much for Daryl and himself as well considering they aren’t together. But it feels… comfortable. Daryl’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, a hand reassuringly pressed to his wrist. Daryl’s breath ghosting across his cheeks as he turns to glare at Devon. In fact, he doesn’t feel at all put off.

His whole body feels pleasantly warm and there’s a dull ache building that’s urging him to press closer, but he _can’t_. How is the older man going to react if he tries something so openly… gay?

“You guys mind?” Devon spits and Paul’s suddenly a lot more likely to go for that punch.

Daryl beats him to it though.

He presses against Paul’s forehead and the younger man wonders if maybe he imagined the gentle, reassuring kiss. Daryl lets him go and turns around, collecting a handful of the front of Devon’s shirt in his fist.

“Ya wanna say that again?” Daryl growls, just inches from his shocked face. Devon goes dead silent, yanking himself out of Daryl’s hold and grabbing his keys off a hook next to the door. He hurries out the door, shutting it behind him and Paul can see him practically sprinting to his car through the main window, tail between his legs. Paul snorts and tries not to think about how hard his heart is pounding in his chest as Daryl makes himself comfortable at the table again to finish his breakfast of stolen pop-tarts. He motions for Paul to join him and the younger man scrubs a hand over his face, hoping that the flush covering it goes unnoticed. It’s highly unlikely though.


	8. Chapter 8

     Daryl has a problem.

And its name is Paul.

Paul. The short, well-built, feisty little bookworm that he’s been sleeping with more often than not these days. Not even sex, just _sleep._ Which he hasn’t had such a high quality of since he started doing it with Paul. Wrapping himself as snuggly around his lithe body as he can without the younger man noticing that it’s become purposeful at this point. Daryl buries his face in the side of Paul’s head as the smaller man tangles their legs together. The both of them too exhausted from jumping around on Paul’s old, squeaky bed to question the arrangement.

Until today that is. Because today, Daryl loses his patience with their game of gay chicken.

The day is going just like any other. Daryl and Paul barrel through the front door and into Paul’s bedroom, giggling stupidly at the days events and hamming it up for the neighbour.

They topple onto the bed and jump around for fifteen minutes, building up a rhythm as usual.

And then, it all falls apart.

Daryl’s getting a little too into the charade, intent on turning Devon into a jealous, exhausted mess thanks to his little stunt one of the previous days. He’s certainly straightened out since then, but Daryl’s still looking for a proper apology. Some signal of defeat that would mean he and Paul could give up on their little show and get back to sleeping during the night.

Not that it matters to him either way, but he can see the exhaustion in Paul’s features daily now.

He lets out a particularly loud moan, followed by a string of words that give away just a little too much personal information for his liking. “Harder!” being the most telltale of them all and he flushes when Paul’s head snaps in Daryl’s direction. He knows it’s not judgement in his eyes, and that the pause in motion and noise on Paul’s end is completely understandable. He’s never told Paul which position he prefers to take when being intimate with another man. Although the two of them share very similar interests, he’s hasn’t worked up the courage to “girl talk” yet. Or whatever you call it when two gay guys talk about their adventures in the sack. Gay talk, maybe.

They finish what they started, but there’s an awkward silence that settles over them as they lay side by side in Paul’s double bed. They’re both painting with effort and Daryl thinks that _maybe_ Paul’s not going to bring up what he heard earlier. But of course, he does.

“So…” Paul starts, and Daryl scrubs his hands over his face nervously. He chews at the inside of his lip as the younger man searches for words where none will make either of them any less uncomfortable. He eventually settles on, “You… never told me you bottom.”

“Jus’… didn’ come up I guess.” Daryl mumbles and Paul seems to accept the answer. He nods gently and sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Not somethin’ I thought mattered…” Daryl continues and maybe he’s overexplaining at this point, but he needs Paul to be comfortable around him. He needs the easy air to return.

“I should- should get some more water. I forgot to refill my bottle earlier.” Paul clears his throat and hurries out the bedroom door, not even reaching under the bed to grab the “empty” bottle. Once Paul is gone and rummaging around in the kitchen, Daryl rolls over to find his cell and check for any messages from the shop. Maybe Rick setting up a day to go down to McGinty’s.

And he finds a full bottle of water instead.

Daryl picks it up and rolls it around in his palm, scrunching his eyebrows together and sighing through his nose. Paul’s uncomfortable now. That’s his own, stupid fault.

Shit.

The younger man is gone for a while. Not an unforgivable amount of time, but long enough for Daryl to know that he’s doing more than filling a glass at the tap. Daryl shifts back into his place and places the bottle next to him on his side of the bed.

Paul returns taking a large drink from a tall glass, holding out a second glass for Daryl that the older man declines. He picks up the bottle instead and takes a swig from it. Paul cringes and places both glasses on the bedside table, crawling back on top of the bed.

“Daryl.”

“Nah, I get it.” Daryl grunts as he moves to place the bottle away, but Paul interrupts the movement. He reaches forward and his hand covers Daryl’s, as well as the upper half of his body. Daryl’s slightly put off at first but continues speaking. “Didn’ think it would make ya uncomfortable… didn’ mean ta-”

“No.” Paul interrupts him again. “No, it’s not that at all. But, I think you know that…” Paul trails off into a whisper and his grip on the bottle and Daryl’s hand tightens slightly, fingers twitching. Paul’s body is so close that if Daryl arched his back, he knows their chests would come into contact. Paul’s other hand moves from the bed to Daryl’s forearm, keeping him trapped underneath him and Daryl’s entire body suddenly feels twenty degrees warmer. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, eyes meeting Paul’s.

“Daryl.” Paul’s voice is low, and the word almost sounds like it slipped by his lips by accident. His eyes flick down to Daryl’s mouth and even Daryl, as sexually stunted as he may be, can tell what _that_ means. He leans forward, hardly a millimetre, and Paul’s breath catches. Daryl feels it against his lips and it reminds him very much of how close the two of them had been in the kitchen days earlier, their bodies hovering almost close enough to touch.

Paul presses forward. His hand slides up to Daryl’s bicep and tightens minutely. Daryl shudders as the tips of Paul’s fingers venture under the sleeve of his T-shirt. His muscles tense in response and Paul shifts his legs forward on the bed. Every movement feels intensified and every second feels like it’s taking an age. Daryl takes a deep breath through parted lips, and Paul goes for it.

Fireworks go off behind Daryl’s shut eyelids as they make contact. Paul’s lips are soft and warm and wet and just _perfect_ as they slot together. It feels like the air is honestly being stolen from his lungs, syphoned out through Paul’s lips and never to be returned because there’s no way he’s coming back from this. This ground-breaking, warm and fuzzy feeling that the kiss is giving him is literally going to kill him.

They’re still for the first few moments of the kiss. Like the two of them aren’t sure who initiated and who should push it forward. And then Daryl _does_ and it’s everything that he could have wanted it to be. Paul’s lips move with his as if they’ve been doing this for ages and suddenly it’s _deeper_ and Daryl doesn’t know how to react to that other than to groan and completely loosen his grip on the water bottle. The plastic crackles and the water inside sloshes as it hits the floor. Paul replaces the empty space between Daryl’s fingers with his own hand and it feels so right that it makes Daryl’s heart swell uncomfortably in his chest.

Daryl tightens his hold on Paul’s fingers and Paul is suddenly pressing his entire upper body against him with a short groan. It’s solid and so warm that Daryl’s tempted to wrap his arm around Paul’s back and bring him in even closer. The only reason that he hasn’t yet is because Paul’s hand is still slowly running up and down his bicep. It’s intoxicating and he’s becoming completely weak to it in the short amount of time that he’s experienced it.

Daryl gasps when Paul shifts himself again and then he’s got all of Paul on top of him. Paul takes his hand off Daryl’s arm and pushes his own, long hair over one shoulder. Daryl opens his eyes just in time to see Paul’s blinking down at him. Big and blue-green, practically glowing through in the dark of the room. Like he’s searching Daryl’s face for any sense of discomfort.

Daryl resolves to prove to him that he wants this. That he _needs_ this. That this is the only thing he can think to do to shut those damn butterflies up.

He moves his arm to wrap around Paul’s lower back and bring their bodies completely flush, like he’d imagined back in the kitchen, less than two minutes ago, and plenty of times in his more dirty, shameful dreams. He can feel Paul’s thighs and a more _intimate_ place just slightly above pressing against his own, along with literally everything else on Paul’s body and there’s suddenly far too many clothes separating them.

“Paul.” Daryl gasps and he didn’t mean for his thoughts to be voiced but Paul seems to be very much into it because he’s suddenly tugging his shirt over his head. He pulls away from the kiss for barely a moment before their lips slide back together and it is _heaven_ in every sense of the word. His hand is in the small of Paul’s back, which is warm and soft and so perfectly fits his ham of a hand. His mouth is wet against Paul’s, which is now opening just slightly more and-

“Ohhhhhh…” Daryl moans, slightly muffled, as Paul’s tongue pushes past his lips. It’s slick and hot and his whole body reacts to it, arching up to gain more friction. Daryl yanks at the hem of his own shirt, tugging the soft cotton off like it’s on fire. It drops off the side of the bed and Paul’s free hand moves from his own hair to Daryl’s stomach. It glides smoothly upwards between their snug bodies, landing on one of Daryl’s pecks.

Daryl nearly squeaks when Paul’s thumb runs over his nipple. The other hand is still holding onto Daryl’s, blunt nails scraping gently while the freely roaming one starts to pull him apart.

Paul pulls his hand off Daryl’s body and his mouth away from his lips. Daryl gasps and stares up at him as the younger man tries to gather himself.

Paul is a hot mess above him. He’s blushing down to the centre of his chest as he pushes his bangs out of his face. His lips are glistening and bruised from kissing that must have lasted much longer than he’d first thought. Daryl feels an itch to run his fingers over them, but Paul seems to be trying to come up with some form of communication.

“Do you want this?” Paul eventually gasps out, and the question confuses him to some extent. He’s here, underneath Paul with his half-hard dick pressing into the younger mans thigh and hands tangled together. He’s a little speechless on how to answer.

He knows that he wants this. And yet, he’s terrified. His heart is torn between beating out of his chest, jumping out of his throat, and dropping into his ass. He’s got six different voices nattering away in his head giving him six different ways to go about this. His father is tanning his ass for getting himself into this “situation”. Threats of violence and homophobic slurs almost drowning out every other voice. His brother Merle is telling him to sack up and decide, whatever it’s going to be. And that might sound supportive in a Merle sort of way, but there’s the constant, underlying tone that reminds him so much of their father.

And then there’s Rick and Michonne. His most supportive pair of friends to ever kick his ass into gear. Yank him out of his drunken rut after the passing of his father and basically shove him towards Paul. There’s Carol. Her second husband Ezekiel on her arm as she gives Daryl _the look_ that tells him things that words couldn’t. That the two of them are more alike than either of them would like to admit. And that they grew out of and escaped from their abusers, building themselves up until they were both in a place where they could accept love.

And finally, there’s Paul himself. In his soft, deep voice, he’s telling him to do what his heart says. It’s corny and ridiculous and he would snort at it if it wasn’t in his own mind. But it’s perfect. And it’s that final voice that pushes him towards his decision.

Daryl tugs their joined hands to rest in front of him, forearms on his chest as he presses his lips to the top of Paul’s hand. His heart is in his throat as he trails kisses down to Paul’s wrist. Maybe he’s being too sentimental, maybe he’s reading too much into the situation. But he doesn’t want this to be a one-off, to walk away from this the next morning unable to fall back into the easy friendship he’s worked so hard for, he’s built himself up to accept openly. He wants everything.

So, if Paul sees the emotion that Daryl’s putting into this and he’s not ready for it, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe the two of them are meant to stay friends with an awkward, sexual tension crackling between them like the miasma of lightening before a storm. Forever in this sexual limbo that’s been ever present since they ran into each other at the side of the road.

Paul doesn’t disappoint him though. He sighs deeply and his whole body seems to relax as a relieved smile spreads across his face. His face flushes another shade darker and Daryl can feel the heat of it mirrored on his own cheeks. He gapes up at shining, white teeth and ecstatic eyes and this time, he can’t hold himself back from kissing that ridiculous smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally gets DIIIIIRRRRTYYYYY!! Please lords and ladies of smut, smile upon my work!

     Nothing has ever felt so perfectly right in Paul’s life than Daryl’s body pressing down against him. Their bare chests slide together as Daryl’s grip on his hand tightens. They haven’t let go of that solid grasp since the first kiss. The hold loosens from time to time and tightens intermittently. Paul pulled himself from it at some point to tickle Daryl’s palm with the tips of his fingers and immediately returned to the intimate grasp, missing the connection.

Unfortunately, Daryl had to break that connection to fumble nervously with Paul’s button and zipper. He pauses from time to time, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to be touching Paul so intimately. Paul thrusts his hips forward, hoping that Daryl gets the hint. Willing, at this point, for Daryl to rip the damn things off so that they can move on to more skin on skin.

Paul can see the words on the tip of Daryl’s tongue. He can see it in his furrowed brows and the way he’s chewing nervously on his lower lip. The same lip Paul was sucking on just moments prior. He knows Daryl wants to warn him that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. That he’s probably not going to be any good, or that Paul can back out at anytime.

But Paul couldn’t care less about how much or how little experience Daryl’s had. Because it’s _Daryl_. Paul needs to be buried to the hilt inside of him. He needs to be completely full of Daryl’s thick shaft as the older man presses him into the mattress. Paul needs to tangle his fingers in short, greying pubic hair as he takes Daryl into his mouth as far as his throat will allow. And then directly after, he needs to sink his own cock into that tight, wet mouth that’s currently sucking on his neck. He needs Daryl in every position, every dirty fantasy that his mind can imagine.

But, he also needs Daryl to be ready for it.

Paul places his hands over Daryl’s and the older man pulls away from the dark hickey he’s sucking into the side of Paul’s throat. The image of Devon seeing that luxurious bruise in the morning and seething through clenched teeth flashes through his mind intermittently. He pushes it away as he runs his thumbs over Daryl’s calloused hands and tilts his head to initiate a warm kiss. Daryl falls into it slowly, his whole body relaxing above Paul until it finally goes limp.

“Don’t think, jus’ feel.” Paul whispers reassuringly against Daryl’s lips and the older man nods. Paul slips his tongue into Daryl’s mouth again as he pushes the band of Daryl’s pants off his hips. Daryl whimpers and his thighs shake as Paul uses his feet to kick Daryl’s jeans the rest of the way off so that he can busy his hands over Daryl’s cock.

“Paul-!” Daryl chokes out as his hips stutter forward. He buries his face in the crook of Paul’s neck and groans, hot breath fanning out against slick skin. Paul almost feels like he’s being burnt by it, but he can’t find it in him to move away when Daryl starts to suck and gnaw at his at the warm spot. He moves his hand faster over the heavy bulge, feeling out the size of it as a shock of pleasure rolls down his spine. He spreads his legs further, forcing Daryl’s to follow.

Paul moves one of his hands to his own pants but the two are pressed so close to each other that he can barely get the zipper down the track. They get stuck halfway down his thighs and Daryl, thankfully, notices. He helps Paul take them the rest of the way off and goes back to mouthing at the marks he’s made on Paul’s throat as their bare legs brush.

“Ohhh shit- Daryl!” Paul gasps as Daryl starts to grind down against his palm, pressing the back of his hand into his own crotch. Daryl brings his lips back up to meet Paul’s, thick hands traversing over bare skin. They stall on Paul’s thighs and squeeze the soft flesh of them. Paul groans and runs the sole of his foot over the back of Daryl’s calf. The fine hairs tickle his feet and he can feel the goosebumps that he leaves in his wake as he retraces his path.

Paul pulls his hand out from between them so that their cocks can align, barely concealed through thin fabric. Paul moves one of his hands around to Daryl’s lower back, trailing it over those thin briefs to palm at his plump ass. Daryl gasps and his hips stutter again, so Paul chuckles and gives him another good squeeze.

Paul moves his other hand up to cup Daryl’s jaw, running his thumb over the short scruff on it and pushing him into another mouth-watering kiss. Paul wonders if he’ll ever get sick of kissing Daryl. Not that he’s been doing it for very long, but he can’t imagine a time where the taste of Daryl’s tongue and the slickness of his mouth stops making his head spin and his nerves alight.

“How do you- mmfh” Paul tries to speak but is distracted by Daryl’s tongue in his mouth. The older man had been too shy up until this point to respond whenever Paul incorporated tongue, but that suddenly flew right out the window. Paul let Daryl take the lead in that for a few minutes, grinding the full of his body upward while moaning intensely to egg him on. He has to pull away at some point though, forcing himself to speak through deep gulps of breath.

“Baby, how do you wanna do this?” Paul asks and Daryl’s whole body suddenly goes taught. Paul reanalyzes what he just said and internally groans, not knowing how Daryl is going to react to pet names. His palm is still cupping Daryl’s jaw and the skin there suddenly feels very hot, hotter than it has been this entire time. Daryl shivers so violently Paul’s worried that there might be a draft coming through one of his windows. He’s not at all prepared for Daryl to press down into him and recapture his lips desperately, like he’s starved for touch.

“Me, I-” Daryl gasps between messy kisses as he tries to form words and slides his nearly bare body against Paul. He seems to distract himself with the kiss multiple times, so Paul pushes Daryl back with the tips of his fingers, forcing him to speak.

“I want ya ta fuck me.” Daryl finally pants out and Paul moans as he flips them over. He pins Daryl’s arms above his head and laces their fingers together as he gives a few more quick grinds.

“I wanna fuck you like this. Is that okay?” Paul asks, and even he can hear how rough his own voice has become with their activities. Daryl’s eyes flutter and he wiggles in Paul’s hold.

“Yesssss…” Daryl groans, and Paul moves so that Daryl’s wrists are placed in one hand. He rubs his thumb gently over them and the small scars littering the flush skin. He places a few kisses to Daryl’s jawline before leaning over the bed to search for his tube of lubricant.

He nearly startles off the side when Daryl pulls from his hold and he feels those two, rough hands kneading his ass through his briefs. He grunts and pushing back into the touch, chuckling filthily as he locates the lube and places it on the bed. Daryl gives another hard squeeze and Paul smiles fondly at the show of confidence as he leans down to kiss that grin. Daryl sighs into his mouth and Paul drags his fingertips gently over the backs of Daryl’s hands. He wraps his own hands around them, guiding Daryl to the band of his now-far-too-snug boxers.

“You wanna help me take these off?” Paul teases and Daryl, albeit a bit nervously, sneaks his fingers underneath the band. He works them down slowly as Paul basically yanks Daryl’s off. The older man lets out a sound that Paul is sure he’ll deny later, something close to a yelp.

Paul looks down to take in the sight of that enormous cock he’s been so excited to get a good look at since feeling it out. He’s not disappointed either. He eyeballs the length at around eight or nine inches long fully erect. It curves towards his belly and precum is already beading at the fat head, dribbling down the shaft. The heavy sack is drawn up tight, covered in fine hairs and Paul imagines rolling it around in his palm to make the older man squirm. Paul runs the back of his hand up the inside of Daryl’s thigh and past the throbbing shaft radiating heat. Daryl grunts in embarrassment and turns away, blush high on his cheeks.

“You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about Daryl.” Paul reassures and picks back up the lubricant. He squirts some into his palm and slips his fingers around the older man’s cock. He keeps his touches light at first, and then starts to tighten his grip on each stroke as he reaches the head. He digs his thumb into the slit and precum leaks out in a thick drop around his fingers, adding to the slick. Daryl makes a sound close to a choke and reaches out to grab Paul’s forearm, running his fingers over the soft skin reverently as the muscles jump with effort.

Paul trails his hand lower when the hand on Daryl’s thigh feels a tremor. He doesn’t want the night to end prematurely, and he doesn’t know the extent of Daryl’s stamina. So, runs his hand over Daryl’s balls, just enough to cover them in a thin layer of slick, and then moves on.

He starts slow, using a mixture of lube and precum to slip the first finger past Daryl’s rim. He pumps until it’s buried to the last knuckle. Daryl is breathing tensely in through his nose and out through clenched teeth, hand still clamped on Paul’s forearm. Paul furrows his brows at how tense the man below him looks, lips pursed together and features tight. He leans forward and kisses his brow, then trails his lips down the side of Daryl’s head. Daryl shivers as Paul’s mouth moves back to his ear, nibbling on the lobe and dragging his tongue along the shell.

“You’re getting in your own head again…” He murmurs, kissing down the thick column of his throat. Daryl swallows and Paul feels is against his tongue as he keeps his mouth open and soft, teeth peeking out only every so often to graze tender skin. He adds a second finger and Daryl’s body jerks, right leg kicking out as Paul buries both of them as deep as he can. He curls them inside, pressing the tips of his fingers against what he hopes is Daryl’s prostate.

Apparently, he’s spot on. Daryl’s body flutters around his fingers and Daryl’s grip on him tightens. Daryl tangles his other hand in the bedsheets and the soft fabric creaks in protest. Paul adds a third and scissors them until Daryl grows accustomed to those as well, pressing intermittently on his prostate to keep his mind off the burn. Daryl groans as the pain finally subsides into pleasure and Paul moves his mouth slowly down to his chest. He sucks one of his nipples into his mouth, tongue brushing over the hard bud as Daryl arches.

“P-Paul-!” Daryl blurts, and Paul plants a quick kiss to his swollen lips.

“Yes baby? What do you need?” Paul soothes, and Daryl pushes Paul’s arm away from his body. He hooks his ankles just underneath Paul’s ass and urges him forward, their hips going snug and dicks sliding together, eased along with lube and cum.

“You… Now.” Daryl demands. Paul groans and thrusts shallowly a few times before aligning himself with Daryl’s tight, slick hole. He grips the base of his own cock with one hand and runs the other up Daryl’s side. He starts sucking a deep, purple hickey at a soft piece of flesh below Daryl’s collarbone and next to his shoulder as a distraction. Daryl wraps one of his arms around Paul’s back and tangles the other in his hair, scratching at his scalp with dull nails.

Paul gives pause as Daryl’s breath quickens and every muscle in his body tenses. He waits until the older man calms, running his free hand over Daryl’s body soothingly.

When Paul finally starts to thrust in, Daryl groans and grinds back down to meet him. The head of Paul’s cock pushes in and he stills to give Daryl’s body enough time to adjust. He waits until the foot digging into the back of his thigh urges him forward before sinking in the rest of the way. Daryl moans aloud as Paul bottoms out, their hips flush and torsos pressed tightly together. He goes still again as Daryl’s chest heaves against his with stuttering gasps.

He kisses his way back up to Daryl’s mouth, slipping his tongue past slick, swollen lips as he moves his hands back to Daryl’s wrists. He places them above Daryl’s head, rolling his hips gently without actually pulling out of the twitching man.

Paul inches his hands up slowly to tangle their fingers together again. He spreads them slightly so that he can put more weight on them as he shifts inside of his lover. Daryl gasps and spreads his legs further so that Paul can press even further inside.

“Ya can-” Daryl groans as Paul pushes up to look down at him. “Ya can move now.”

Paul nods and starts a slow rocking, pulling himself only halfway out of the older man before thrusting back in. Daryl huffs with each movement, small whimpers slipping past his lips as Paul pulls out more fully with each thrust. He does his best to keep himself silent, wanting to hear every noise, every soft sound that falls from the older man’s mouth as he takes him. He keeps his eyes locked on Daryl’s face, drinking in the haze of pleasure twisting his features and committing them to memory.

He leans down to gnaw at Daryl’s jaw, teeth scraping gently over the stubble and tongue peeking out to draw patterns over the warm flesh. Daryl groans and Paul picks up his speed a little more. Though, apparently, a little isn’t enough because the older man urges him to go harder and faster, ankles pulling at his thighs desperately. Paul moans and speeds up, revelling in the schlick noises that echo throughout the room.

“God, you look beautiful like this.” Paul whispers, spellbound by the way Daryl’s body reacts to his every move. His cock bounces with every harsh thrust and the muscles in his arms bulge with effort as he grips onto Paul like a lifeline. His entire body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, collecting and pooling in the hollows between the muscles on his chest and abdomen. Paul leans down to drag his tongue over all of them, inhaling deeply. The smell of soap, sweat, tobacco, and engine grease blend together perfectly and leave his head spinning. He shuts his eyes tightly and nuzzles his face closer in to the scent, growling low in his throat like an animal.

Daryl’s ears tinge scarlet and Paul looks up at them with a breathless smile, admiring the colour and wondering how they would feel between his teeth. He chooses to drag his tongue over Daryl’s nipples again instead, grip tightening on Daryl’s hands as his nerve endings start to sting. The familiar throb of arousal is heavy and constant in his abdomen now, beating at his insides like hyperactive butterflies and spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I’m close, Daryl- shit! Do you… do you want me in or out?” Paul gasps. He has a preferred answer already in mind, though either is fine with him. Pulling out at the last moment and covering Daryl’s body in thick, white ropes of his come, watching it cascade down his warm skin. Or pushing himself deep inside as he fills Daryl with it until it’s seeping out around the sides of his cock. Both images leave him hot, dizzy, and trembling out of his skin.

“In! _GOD_ , inside me… Paul!” Daryl shouts, body spasming around Paul’s throbbing length. Paul nods frantically and swoops back up to capture Daryl’s mouth.

“Feels so good baby, you feel so fucking good on my cock-” Paul babbles and Daryl finally unravels at the filthy words. He practically sobs as his cock pulsates between them, loud and punctuated by filthy curses and Paul’s name. Paul’s eyes roll into the back of his skull and he licks into Daryl’s mouth frantically as he spills inside of him. It’s everything his imagination could have conjured up and so much _more_. Even his wildest dreams couldn’t have prepared him for the way Daryl’s body would contract around him, milking him of every last drop as he covers himself in his own slick.

It feels like a whole day has passed before he finally comes back down. He collapses on top of Daryl’s still twitching body, pulling himself from his used hole and wrapping his arms under his neck. Daryl seems to hesitate for a moment, stiffening at the touch and shifting uncomfortably.

Paul gives him time to think, to take in what just happened. And slowly, Daryl responds, hugging Paul to him tightly with trunk-like arms and burying his nose in the side of Paul’s head. Paul smiles where his face is buried in the pillows, tightening his hold on broad shoulders.

“Don’t let this be another dream…” Paul jokes, hoping to help Daryl relax a little. He can still feel that he’s unsure about how to act through his tense demeanour. He seems to appreciate the effort though as he snorts and drags one of the blankets up to cover them both.

“Nah. Yer stuck with me now.” Daryl chuckles and Paul hums happily.

“Good. I don’t know what I would do if I woke up without you right now…” He muses to himself, but he’s close enough to Daryl’s ear that of course the older man catches it. Daryl places a chaste kiss to the side of his head and relaxes into the bed, body going completely limp.

“I’ll be here when ya wake up. Ya gotta sleep first for that ta happen though.” Daryl insists, and Paul nods, shutting his eyes and shifting until he’s comfortable on top of the larger man. He falls into a deep sleep easily, and it’s by far the most peaceful he’s had in years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one and it's the last one! I was thinking about not adding in any smut here but I LIVE for their smut, so have some anyway, mixed with cotton-candy level fluffiness.

      It’s been three months. Three whole months since Paul and Daryl initiated their… relationship, thing. Daryl is still getting used to that idea. That he’s finally in a relationship.

There’d been talking the morning after, of course there had been. More so on Paul’s end than Daryl’s. Daryl had listened to Paul basically pour his soul out as they laid next to each other that morning, wishing he had the words that Paul did.

And they’ve been doing couples things ever since. Like seeing each other every day, though that’s not much different from how they had been up until a few months ago. They text each other whenever they’re not together. Paul is constantly sending Daryl dumb pictures. Daryl pretends to be irate about it, even ignoring them from time to time so that Paul will stop sending them. But they always cheer him up.

Paul and Daryl are going on dates now too. Whether that be ordering take-out and eating it in front of the TV or actually leaving the apartment, it’s become a thing of them. And it feels really, really good. Paul’s also gotten into the habit of lying on Daryl’s lap and demanding he be fed. Which was rather forcefully declined the first three times. Then Daryl gave in once, and he could never say no to the little bugger again.

Then there’s the sex… Daryl’s never had sex like it in his life. It’s hot and intense and filled with so much emotion that his heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest and snuggle up to Paul like a purring kitten. He never thought he could feel so much for one person. Paul makes him see stars and fireworks and god damn lightening behind squeezed shut eyelids. He would keep them shut for longer and simmer in the moment if he wasn’t always so dumbfounded by Paul’s beauty every time he opens them again.

Daryl’s started thinking about love on top of it all. About saying it out loud. How much he’s grown to love Paul. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he felt it even before the night that they solidified their relationship. That his feelings have only grown stronger since he’s been able to spend more time with the younger man. The warm, fuzzy, nauseating feeling that he got every time he looked in Paul’s direction has heightened exponentially. The butterflies beat violently at the inside of his gut and his toes curl reflexively whenever their eyes meet.

He’s not sure if he’s strong enough to admit that yet though. Not out loud, not to himself, and not to Paul. But he hopes that someday, and someday soon, he’ll be able to voice it.

“Daryl?” Paul snaps Daryl out of his musings and brings his attention back to the present. Paul’s legs are draped over Daryl’s lap as he chows down on a slice of pizza. Daryl grunts and flicks his eyes back to the TV, then to his own slice that’s drooping dangerously close to his shirt.

Paul’s right. He does get in his own head too much.

Paul kicks at him playfully and Daryl shoves half of the slice in his mouth. They gave in tonight and bought from their favourite pizza place, dolling out an extra 20$ than they usually would. Paul had joked and called it a “fancy” dinner and it seriously made him consider taking Paul out somewhere nice. Something very spider-like scratches at the inside of his brain as he imagines himself dressed up and sipping wine someplace with cloth napkins and real silver-wear. But then, Paul is sitting across from him and the stuffiness is just a little more bearable.

Some big-breasted blonde gets torn to shreds on screen and Daryl breathes out something close to a chuckle through his nose. They hadn’t been able to decide on a genre for the night and settled on a mishmash of horror, comedy, and satire. It made the movie palatable for the both of them, especially considering how picky they can both be at times.

Though most nights, the movie choice doesn’t matter. They always end up distracting each other half way through with wandering hands and heated kisses. Paul’s hands land on where the top of Daryl’s thigh meets his knee as a particularly _scary_ part happens. Daryl knows Paul’s not afraid of a damn thing. But he hams it up so that Daryl will scoot closer. Not that he needs to, but Daryl is not going to let him on to that. It’s too amusing watching the drama queen play out his scene.

Tonight is no exception. The heel of Paul’s foot is already trailing along the inside of Daryl’s thigh, pausing when it lands a tad high before sliding back down. He wraps his toes over the top of Daryl’s leg and gives a quick squeeze. Daryl sets his free hand on top of Paul’s calf and gives the wandering leg a shake, earning a chuckle.

“No?” Paul asks through his smile. The question is half serious and half in jest, he’s always been careful. Daryl can see the internal struggle every time they start to get intimate. The hunger in his eyes and the twitching of his fingers always makes him shiver. But Paul always takes pause to ask what he’s comfortable with. And Daryl’s thankful for it, even if it makes him feel like an idiot sometimes. Like he’s some girl that needs to be treated with care, all fragile and sensitive.

Daryl’s face colours, light pink dusting across the bridge of his noise and upper cheekbones. He finishes off his slice and reaches for his water bottle to chase it. They usually pair pizza with beer but, as of late, they’ve been switching over to more family friendly beverages. Mainly because neither of them like the way alcohol tastes on the others tongue. Paul’s admitted as much to Daryl during a pillow talk session, as well as the fact he hates the taste of tobacco on him. Daryl’s still getting used to cutting back on that but, he’s trying. For Paul, he’ll try anything.

Even moving.

Which is the final thing on Daryl’s mind as he mindlessly watches a slightly-too-old-to-play-a-college-student jump into a wood chipper on screen.

He’s been living in the Winnebago passed on to him by his father and brother for over a dozen years now. On his own since the last time Merle left, never bothering to show up again. Not even so much as a letter. Although, Daryl’s moved the trailer so many times now that Merle would be hard-pressed to find his address.

It’s the last thing he has left of his family. Or, what he called family. More like his bloodline.

And he would give it up in a heartbeat for Paul.

Daryl removes a crumpled-up newspaper clipping from the breast pocket of his flannel over-shirt and hands it to Paul. The younger man eyeballs it for a second, then takes it from him. He seems confused for a couple of minutes, scanning the clipping and turning it over. Then it clicks. The paper makes a sudden crackling noise as Paul’s grip on it tightens.

It’s a simple place, and Daryl isn’t even really that set on it. It’s mainly the idea he wants to convey. Put the option out there without physically having to say _I want you to move in with me._ Paul has always accepted that Daryl is a man of few words, but he seems stuck now. So, Daryl sacks up and tries to form a couple of sentences.

“Ain’t much. One ‘a those _artist studio_ -like things, basically one, big room and a shitter. Got ‘nough space fer two beds though, so if ya don’t wanna share, can get a pull-out sofa with tha money from sellin’ tha trailer.” Daryl mutters the last part, and Paul _finally_ looks at him.

“You’d sell the Winnebago?” He asks, and his voice sounds too small and unsure on him. “It’s all you have left of your family Daryl, I can’t ask you to-”

“Yer not askin’, I’m doin’. ‘Sides, s’just a car. Handed down by a drunk deadbeat an’ a drug addict.” Daryl thinks about saying more. That this is his way of moving on from all that. From being a Dixon. But it sounds too sappy, no matter how he tries to word it.

Paul has gone back to being silent, eyes fixed on the paper. Daryl can see his mind working, gears in his head turning so fast that steam is coming out of his ears.

He’s almost tempted to turn back to the TV and give Paul some time to think when he moves. Paul presses the paper to his forehead, face shielded by the crinkled, grey slip. He frees up one of his hands and reaches blindly in Daryl’s direction. It takes the older man a minute to figure out what he’s doing, and then he takes it. Paul grasps at him firmly, and there’s a slight tremor. He nods, so minute that it might have just been a twitch. Then he does it again with more intent.

“Yes… yeah, I’d like that… to live with you.” Paul’s voice is slightly broken, and he’s nuzzled himself into the crook of his own elbow now. Daryl pulls him forward on the couch until he’s properly sitting in his lap, huddled up against his side like a child. He smiles against Paul’s forehead, placing a gentle kiss there. Paul pulls in a slow, stuttering breath, and looks up at him.

There’s a scream from the TV and Paul startles, jumping against Daryl’s body and making a barely concealed, yelp-like noise in the back of his throat. Daryl snickers and nuzzles at the side of Paul’s turned head, wrapping both arms around the younger man and dragging him properly onto his lap. Paul straddles his thighs and reaches back to quickly place the clipping on the coffee table as Daryl smooths his hair out of his face.

“We’ll tell Devon yer leavin’, you an’ me. No bullshit.” Daryl whispers against Paul’s throat as he starts to trail feather-light kisses.

“Don’t think I could take him if he had a problem with it?” Paul snickers, and Daryl shakes his head, nuzzling against Paul’s throat and making him giggle a little more.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. I gotta make sure ya don’t kill ‘im.” Daryl reasons and Paul outright laughs at that. It sounds like heaven compared to the shrill screams and bloody squelches coming from the TV speakers, and Daryl commits the sound to memory.

“Yeah… suppose I can’t split the rent with you from death row.”

“Ya don’t go to death row fer one murder.” Daryl smirks as he trails his hands to the outsides of Paul’s thighs, grasping just tightly enough to hold him still.

“I’m sure that if the method is disturbing enough, they’ll shoot me on spot.” Paul says as if he’s actually considering it. How much he could get away with by using his puppy dog eyes.

“Ya got somethin’ in mind?”

“Not as much as I have in mind for you, Mr.Dixon.” Paul smirks and starts popping open the buttons of Daryl’s shirt, open palms wandering underneath and stroking over his thin undershirt.

“Mmm, you wear too much.” Paul complains half-heartedly. Daryl huffs and pushes the smaller man back so that he can pull all of the clothes on his upper torso up and over his head. He throws them to the other side of the couch, eyes fixed on Paul as he wraps his arms around Paul’s back.

“Now who’s wearing too much?” He goads, and he knows that it’s pretty out of character for him to be this confident, but Paul’s eyes are blowing black and he’s starting to squirm so perfectly on top of him that he doesn’t have time to get into his own head. Paul runs his hands over Daryl’s bare chest, fingertips playing gently with the greying hairs and trailing over hard-packed muscle. Daryl grunts as Paul starts to tug at his nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

“I never get tired of looking at you…” Paul muses, and Daryl wants to roll his eyes because there’s nobody on earth who likes looking at him except for Paul.

He decides not to focus on that and starts to play with the hem of Paul’s tee instead, looking at the younger for confirmation and then yanking it off without much finesse to speak of. Their bare chests slide together and Daryl’s eyes go lidded as he loses himself in the warm feeling. Paul leans up for a kiss, all tongue and teeth, slick and hot. His entire body throbs and Paul whimpers against his lips, the sound pulling at his heart and making his limbs go numb.

“Daryl…” Paul whispers and that goes straight to his dick as well, which is now swelling to press against the inseam of his jeans. He’s sure that Paul can feel it against his thigh, which should be embarrassing but it just feels so perfect and right instead.

Paul is suddenly gone and Daryl’s arms feel empty, fingers grasping at air and mouth hanging slack. He opens his eyes to see the younger man crawling down to his knees, hands grasping at the insides of Daryl’s thighs as he shifts until he’s comfortable. He wastes no time in yanking his zipper down the track and mouthing at him through his briefs.

“Oh-oh shit-! Little… lil’ fast don’t ya- ohhhh…” Daryl groans as Paul sucks the head through the soaked cotton.

“Sorry, jus’ remembered I haven’t gotten to touch you like this in a while.” Paul chuckles, cheeks tinging with embarrassment. He looks up at Daryl through thick lashes and with lips that are still slightly swollen where they’re pressed against the underside of his cock. Daryl’s breath catches and he suddenly feels dangerously close to coming on the spot.

“Ya’ve touched me there plenty.” Daryl smirks, a little shakily, and Paul shakes his head softly.

“Not with my mouth. Wanna taste you.” And with that, he pulls the band of Daryl’s boxers down, tongue dragging over the throat of his cock in a dirty slide. Daryl groans and precum oozes from the tip of his cock, dripping down the underside and landing squarely on Paul’s tongue. Paul sighs through his nose and laps it up, trailing himself up to the tip and sucking.

“Paul…” Daryl gasps, and Paul reaches up to gently wrap his hand around Daryl’s wrist, guiding his hand to the top of his head. With a slight tremor in his fingers, Daryl grips at the soft strands, lacing them between thick fingers and pulling gently. Paul moans at the attention and Daryl tugs harder, dull fingernails scraping Paul’s scalp gently.

Daryl’s other hand ventures to cup Paul’s jaw just as the younger man is beginning to take the first half of his cock into his mouth. Drool is forming at the corner of his mouth and making Daryl’s cock slick enough to thrust in and out of Paul’s mouth without any friction. He does just that, softly rocking his hips forward as Paul groans his approval around his mouthful.

Daryl’s still not used to that either. The way Paul will swallow him up completely and beg for more, beg for Daryl to fuck his mouth until he can’t speak for an hour afterwards.

Daryl moves his hand a little lower, to where the soft underside of Paul’s jaw meets his throat. His knuckles graze over the smooth skin just as Paul takes him to the hilt and he feels the tip of his cock forcing Paul’s throat to swell against the backs of his fingers. Daryl’s head falls back and he gasps desperately, so turned on that he can barely breathe. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows thickly, the clicking of his throat only drowned out by the TV and the obscene noises Paul is making on his cock. His body arches off the back of the couch and Paul’s mouth speeds up until he takes him back down to the base and _swallows._

“Ooh-! Fu-uh-!” Daryl’s voice wavers as he tries and fails to grit out a warning. His cock pulses inside of Paul’s mouth as pleasure shoots down his spine and pools warmly in his abdomen. His entire body feels like it’s unraveling as Paul gives one final suck that sends him over the edge and he orgasms. His grip on Paul’s hair tightens again and he snaps his head back down to watch Paul as he swallows almost every drop of cum, a bit escaping and cascading down his chin.

His limbs are jelly and he’s starting to feel oversensitive as Paul pulls off of his cock with a gasp. He runs his tongue over his lips to clean up the mess and wipes his chin with his forearm. Daryl can see that Paul’s right arm has slipped between his own body and the couch, moving at a slow, steady pace as he leans against the inside of Daryl’s thigh.

“Get up here.” Daryl groans, a little firmly, and Paul shivers between his legs. He turns to look up at him through one eye and thick, dewy lashes, nodding and standing to straddle him again. His hand has slipped under the band of his boxers, past the open button and zip of his pants to work his dick. Paul presses his body close to Daryl and nuzzles into the side of his throat, huffing out hot puffs of air and whispering against warm skin. Paul uses his free arm to wrap around Daryl’s neck for support.

“Oh god please Daryl… please, please, please, just let me… let me-” Paul moans and Daryl shoves his hand out of the way to use his own instead, wrapping it around the pulsating shaft. It’s heavy and thick in his grasp and if he hadn’t just come, he’d be hard all over again.

“Yer absolutely filthy gettin’ this excited just suckin’ me off.” Daryl goads, and Paul bucks into his hand. Daryl uses his free hand to cup Paul’s jaw, pushing his thumb past his lips and forcing his mouth open. Paul drools around the appendage and Daryl chuckles. “Love workin’ that mouth ‘a yers, don’t ya, love it when it’s full?”

Paul moans around Daryl’s thumb and Daryl pulls him into a kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth and it’s exactly what the younger man needs to unravel. He comes against Daryl’s chest on an upstroke and the hot splatter makes the older man groan.

Paul falls against him once he’s fully emptied himself, smearing the mess across both of their bodies. They both cringe, but neither pulls away.

“Never get tired of touching you.” Paul sighs, and Daryl shuts his eyes. “Seriously. Touching you, looking at you… knowing you’re mine. Feels so good.”

Paul always gets like this post-orgasm. When his mind is hazy and he starts to get all giggly and sappy. Daryl didn’t understand it at first, but it’s sort of endearing now, how insistent he becomes on his love and attraction. The younger man hardly ever sounds as sure of himself as he does in times like these.

“We should… we should do that again.” Daryl says decisively, and Paul pulls back a bit to look at him. He smiles, wide and a little bit lazy.

“That’s some stamina you’ve been keepin’ from me old man.”

“Just wanna fuck up Devon’s couch before ya leave.”

Paul bursts out laughing just in time for Devon to come stomping in through the front door. In Daryl’s mind, the chaos that follows can only be called glorious. And in the end, Devon storms right back out with a grocery list of foods the boys have eaten and the knowledge that he’s going to have to find a new roommate. Daryl and Paul search for apartments on Paul’s laptop, stealing kisses as B-rated horror movies flicker across the television screen.

Daryl’s not sure where their relationship is going, or if it’s going to last. But, as the dim glow of sunset pours through old, thin curtains and Paul’s laptop screen reflects off his smiling eyes, for once, he doesn’t worry too much about his future. He’s happy to take it as it comes. With Paul by his side and his past behind him, he looks forward to having his first roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU all SO MUCH for being with me for this. I've been doing a lot of one shots and drabbles because I'm worried about my story writing abilities. BUT, you guys have all been so supportive, every little comment that you leave helps me so much. Whether a positive comment makes my day better or some concrit makes me step up my game a little bit, you've been so helpful and I'm so happy to have you all as an audience.
> 
> I can't wait to see you all again, love you! <3 <3 <3


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